Smoke Signals
by The Wolf's Shadow
Summary: Inspector Lestrade goes along with Holmes and Watson, who are helping him with a case, only for nothing to turn out like he planned. Slightly ridiculous. Please R&R. Last chapter posted.
1. Nothing

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Sherlock Holmes franchise or the characters in it.

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Lestrade wasn't very happy at the moment. In fact, he was decidedly unhappy. Holmes had dragged him and Watson (although the latter had come willingly enough) to a miserable dark alley in the middle of the night to do nothing. Exactly nothing. Of course, Holmes had explained how it was of dire importance that they be in this particular alley doing nothing to solve the case. Yes, Lestrade was very unhappy.

So while that blasted Holmes walked calmly into that poorly lit alley where who knows how many people had been mugged and or killed, and Watson followed trustingly after him, Lestrade hung back by the entrance wondering why in the world he had bothered asking Holmes for help in the first place. While yes, Holmes would solve the case, the solving was almost always an unpleasant process for Lestrade. This was once again proving to be true.

Despite his misgivings, Lestrade eventually entered the alley and took a watchful post far enough away from the entrance of the alley to be cast in the shadows, unseen, but close enough that _he _could still see. Something tapped his shoulder and he jumped in surprise (careful not to make any noise and give them away, he refrained from any yelps or screaming). He turned to the tapper and found it to be Watson, who wordlessly offered a cigarette. Holmes was already puffing away at his when he offered a match.

"I thought we were supposed to be doing nothing."

_"This is nothing. Now be quiet_," Holmes hissed.

Lestrade took the cigarette and match. Not being much of a smoker, he merely held the lit cigarette loosely in his hand. He turned back towards the entrance and watched for anything suspicious. Out of the corner of his eye, the ends of Holmes' and Watson's cigarettes were bright spots of light in the dark alley. Smoke gently curled upwards in bursts as Watson and Holmes methodically puffed at their cigarettes.

Twenty minutes into their "doing nothing", Lestrade noticed just how cold it was. This put him in an even worse mood than before, as so far they had nothing (_exactly nothing!_) to show for all their not doing anything.

Lestrade glare into the street as Holmes shifted behind him. Holmes shifted again.

"I wish I had my pipe."

_"Shhh," _Lestrade hissed

Everything was silent for a few moments, then Holmes shifted. Watson muttered something under his breath, _"Stop that now_._"_ Lestrade rolled his eyes, then looked heaven ward. Silently he pleaded for the night to end. Unfortunately for him, it wouldn't for a while. A long, long while...

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A/N: I am not in any way encouraging you to smoke. Those little things called lungs hate it when you smoke, no really. The only reason I'm writing anything with smoking in it is because: 1) the characters smoke, 2) plot. Now the little part of me that insisted on that little spiel is happy, how'd I do? This is the first time I've written anything (besides a poem or two) for SH that didn't have some dark theme or element to it. Please let me know how I did. Pretty please?


	2. Bristling

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Sherlock Holmes franchise or the characters in it.

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Holmes would not stand _still. _

Even though his back was turned to him, Lestrade could tell Watson was glaring daggers at the inattentive Holmes. Watson's presence was as stiff and hard as a block of wood; indeed, that was how he stood. It seemed like he wasn't having a good night either. Lestrade felt a little bad about that. He could, after all, tell where the other man was coming from.

Lestrade counted the seconds. _One... Two... Three... Four-_ Holmes moved all his weight from one foot to the other, rustling his clothing, making his leather shoes squeak, and causing the soles of those shoes to grind into the ground they stood on. Then he _sighed_.

Lestrade in an attempt to control himself started tapping his cigarette against his leg. He concentrated on keeping the tap-tap-tap rhythm steady against his thigh. He could tell Watson was having a hard time restraining himself. Lestrade could hear Watson puffing furiously at his cigarette, and it seemed as if the doctor was fairly bristling.

Lestrade knew the doctor to be calm and levelheaded on most occasions, but the weather was steadily getting worse and Watson's war wound would be acting up.

_Holmes certainly wasn't helping._

The last ten minutes had been spent in silence, except for Holmes' sighing and constant shifting and Watson's heavy puffing. Nothing had happened outside the alley in the whole time they had been there. The only interesting detail was the man standing in the doorway of one of the buildings across the street. He looked just a miserable as Lestrade felt. The man's coat was thin and no cab had come along this particular street in the past thirty minutes or so. The Inspector frowned. _Poor fellow._ Just as Lestrade began to turn his thoughts back to his dismal situation, he noticed a strange smell.

_"Put your pants out. They draw too much attention," _Holmes addressed him.

Turning his back to the street, Lestrade shot the detective a look. _"What are you talk-"_

Watson jumped and made a few flapping gestures at Lestrade's lower body. "Good heavens, man! You're on fire!"

The Inspector _did_ yelp this time as he slapped fervently at his burning trousers. Holmes stalked further into the alley, huffing something about "inviting attention", "screaming" and "burst an eardrum_._" Lestrade's eyes watered at his smarting hands and thigh, not to mention the state of his trousers. He was living on a very strict budget partially due to the size of his wages and partially to his wife's insistence. He did not look forward to what she would have to say about _this__. _

Out of the corner of his eye Lestrade saw the glowing end of the offending cigarette on the pavement. Holmes returned and stood next to Watson who watched sympathetically as their companion ground the life out of an unsuspecting cigarette.

Suddenly Holmes jerked upright from his slouched position next to Watson, and pulled an object out of his coat pocket. "I had my pipe the whole time! Fathom that!"

Lestrade froze from where he was bent over the remains of the cigarette. His heel worked on autopilot grinding the remaining shreds to dust even while his head turned and his eyes locked onto the pipe in Holmes' hand. Disbelief and other feelings swelled to the forefront of his mind. Then it started to rain. Hard.

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A/N: I don't think this turned out as well as the last chapter. The characters are very extreme in here and I'm not sure how well it reads. I'm also pretty sure this is running the thin line between plot and filler. I don't really like filler chapters, so I'm hoping this was plot. I can never be sure with my own writing. *sighs* Okay, thanks for reading! Please let me know how I did!


	3. Getting Worse

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Sherlock Holmes franchise or the characters in it.

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Lestrade slumped against the alley wall, shaking his wet head as the rain fell from the his hair and the heavens into his eyes. He would get a cold, miss work, and not be able to pay for new trousers and it was All. Holmes'. Fault. Things could not get worse.

Resigned to spending the rest of the night in this dismal alley, Lestrade asked Watson for another cigarette. The doctor kindly obliged. Lestrade snatched the offered match from Holmes hand with a barely disguised snarl. Holmes looked a little offended. The thought made the Inspector smile as he lit the cigarette anchored between his lips.

Then, standing in the small alley and harsh rain, they all resumed smoking. It was blessed silence.

A thought struck Lestrade. If they were standing in the alley to avoid being seen doing nothing, then the whole night had been wasted. Anyone could clearly see the cigarette ends as they smoked them, indicating their presence. On top of that, his trousers had recently been ablaze and he had yelled. This would not have gone unnoticed.

Lestrade puffed angrily, once again taking his frustration out on a poor cigarette. He refrained from saying anything, for if he had tried he would have been reduced to shrieking insanities at the calm man smoking a pipe. Things could _not_ get worse. _It was all Holmes' fault. _Lestrade knew this with all his heart, but he still had _some_ of his pride.

He drew in a sharp breath then suddenly exhaled one big cloud of cigarette smoke. Holmes stiffened, Watson looked alarmed. Lestrade merely coughed. _Wrong pipe!_

Then Holmes shot out of the alley onto the street. He walked in a brisk upright fashion, like he was upset. Lestrade had recovered enough to wheeze a question towards Watson, who still looked alarmed.

"What's wrong with," another round of coughing, "him?"

Watson expression changed to something more... stern? "Honestly, Lestrade, that was a very low thing to say."

"Who said what?"

The doctor's expression changed to one of surprise now. "You mean you don't know about the code?"

"Code? What co-"

Watson ran off after Holmes, leaving Lestrade to grasp at straws. "It's alright, Holmes! He didn't mean it!" Watson called out.

Lestrade spun around in a few confused circles, trying to figure out what had just happened. Abruptly, he looked towards the man standing in the doorway across the street. He was shaking his head at Lestrade, as if to say he had been terribly rude. Then man then left his doorstep and strode off in the opposite direction of the one Holmes and Watson had taken.

Lestrade had two thoughts then. The first: What? The second: This is all Holmes' fault.

Eventually, once he had cleared his head, Lestrade went home. He, however, did miss work for the next two days. When he did show up at work he was still sneezing and was forced to wear a badly patched and singed pair of pants much to his embarrassment.

He didn't talk or go to Holmes with a case for the next several weeks. He was, after all, a very busy man and...

_It was all Holmes' fault.

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_A/N: I hope this was semi-plausible. Either way, I had a lot of fun writing it. :) Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please review and let me know how I did. It would make Lestrade feel better. Really. =)


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